


Big Brother

by missgnutmeg



Series: Scattered Family Portraits [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgnutmeg/pseuds/missgnutmeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Directly follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1785100">Fingolfin had died</a> with slight overlap. Becoming king wasn't exactly what Turgon wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Brother

**Author's Note:**

> My only excuse for this is that I've always found Fingon's death to be one of the most beautiful moments of literature I've ever come across.

>   
>  _As strong as you were, tender you go.  
>  I'm watching you breathing for the last time.  
> A song for your heart, but when it is quiet,  
> I know what it means and I'll carry you home.  
> I'll carry you home._
> 
> (From James Blunt's "Carry You Home")

"Let us fight this day as to make adar proud." Those were the only words his brother had managed to say to him during their quick embrace before they'd been separated by the emerging hosts of balrogs. The scent of battle was all around him, sticking to him as surely as the blood of the fallen that splattered his armor. It disgusted Turgon, as it always had. He was the quiet one, the serious one, not the soldier; though he could fight more than well enough and better than most when there was need.

 

Despite all the commotion, the world had frozen around Turgon when Fingon fell. He had just turned upon defeating an orc and his breath caught on seeing the Balrog's weapon striking down his brother. He yelled out his brother's name and tried to rush to his side, already far too late, but the hands of one of his generals held him back. "No, my Lord, you are High-King now. We must retreat and keep you safe."

So they did retreat, but he would never admit to them what it cost him to leave.

Finally, the field clear of battle, Turgon was able to come back to lay claim to what was left of his older brother. He couldn't help but notice how much like their father Fingon looked in death. Their father whose bloody and broken body had been returned by eagles for Turgon to bury.

Kneeling next to his brother, Turgon studied his features for one last time. Well, what was left of them. Which wasn't much. Fingon's skull had been cleaved had he'd been trampled by many of the enemy. Still, he pulled a bloody clump of hair away from his brother's lips and kissed them softly. They were cold. Unresponsive. And he would never kiss them again.

Even cold, dead, bloody and marred Fingon was still beautiful. How cruel were the Valar to allow this to be? Tears fell hotly down Turgon's cheek onto his brother's chest, but their heat was no where near enough to bring him back. How could this deformed corpse, this bloody mass, how could this be his big brother? Where was the goofy smile? Where was the twinkle in his gray eyes? How could this be the same brother who taught him the proper way to sit a horse or to hold his sword?

Suddenly he felt warmth surround him, and he looked up to see two of his Feanorian cousins. Maedhros sat stonily on his right and Maglor on his left. They offered him no more comfort than that, but Turgon was grateful that they understood. Their own pride understood his need.

Maglor eventually did offer one small thing, though. "Shall we bury the body here, cousin? Or do you wish to take it?"

Without hesitating, Turgon replied. "I'll take it." For he meant to bury his brother next to his father. He had also buried his sister there, after her unfortunate passing.

A part of him wondered if anyone would bury him with them when his own time inevitably came. Then again, no one else knew where they were buried. Oddly, this made him think of his mother back in Tirion. Did she know her husband and two of her children were dead? He both hoped so and not. Turgon would much rather she were happy and oblivious but he also knew she would rather know. His mother had always been practical. That's where he had gotten it from.

Sometime, during this chain of thoughts, his cousins had taken their leave. He hadn't even noticed. All he could really focus on were those still lips that would never again tease him for reading too long, or ask him for his thoughts on a matter. They had been separated these past centuries by his own choice, and now he regretted that. Couldn't he have chosen to let his brother of all people know of his secret city? He had done little more than send a few letters by bird over all that time. Why hadn't he made more effort to spend what time they had left together?

Who did he have left now? His daughter? His nephew? They were precious to him, yes, but they were not his brother. Fingon had always been there for him. It had been Fingon's bed he had crawled into when he'd had nightmares as a child, and Fingon who had kept him alive after Elenwë had died on the Helcaraxë. In so many ways, he belonged to his brother. Owed him so much. And now all he could do to repay Fingon was to bury him with their father and try to rule wisely in his place.

"I am so sorry, big brother. I love you."

And that was all he could say. His heart was far too full to ever say anything more or less than that.


End file.
